


Likely Outcome

by wesleysgirl



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of SGA S4 ep 15 "Outcast."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Likely Outcome

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Bethynyc for the beta. All unaccompanied dashes are my own. :-)  
> Inspiration courtesy of Fitofpique.  
> For my [Trope_Bingo](http://wesleysgirl.livejournal.com/1379943.html) card. Trope: Secret Twin/Doppelganger.

John Sheppard sighed and made himself stand up and finish packing. Going back to Earth to attend his father’s funeral was pretty much the last thing he wanted to do, today or any other day, for a variety of reasons. 

He’d always imagined that some time he’d go home, work things out with his dad and his brother. Sure, he’d never figured out exactly how that would happen; the stuff that was wrong between them was complicated, not likely to be resolved in five minutes or even five days, and he was who he was. He wasn’t going to change.

But he’d always thought there’d be time. Eventually. 

Now, it seemed he’d been wrong.

The door to his room slid open without warning -- he really ought to get into the habit of locking it -- and McKay came in.

“Hey,” Rodney said. “I, uh, heard what happened. I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks.” John shoved the rest of his clothes into his bag and zipped it shut as Rodney came closer.

“You okay?” Rodney sounded and looked worried. John didn’t want that. He didn’t want Rodney to worry, and he didn’t want Rodney’s soft, sympathetic gaze on him, encouraging him to open up and share or whatever it was they both knew people were supposed to do and they were hopeless at.

“Yeah,” John said, lying through his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“I, um, requested to go back with you. Now, I know you’re going to say that you can handle it alone -- and I’m sure that’s true -- but. The point of having friends is that you shouldn’t have to. Handle stuff alone, I mean. So, I’ll meet you in the gate room.”

“Rodney --”

“Tell me you want to go alone,” Rodney said, his blue eyes soft and imploring. “Tell me you don’t want me there.”

John could lie about being okay, but he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t want Rodney there. He wanted Rodney all the time. “You don’t have to come,” he said, even though it wasn’t the same thing at all.

Rodney frowned. “I know that. I _want_ to. I mean, obviously I don’t _want_ to, no one _wants_ to go to things like this, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” John said softly. “I do.” He forced himself to look down, away from Rodney’s face, because he was afraid he was letting too much show. “Meet you in the gate room.”

“Okay. Good.” Rodney turned to go. 

John didn’t manage to say, “Thanks,” before the door shut behind Rodney, so he said it to the room instead.

* * *

The first hour at John’s father’s house was one of the most disjointed, confusing hours of Rodney’s life, and that was saying something.

Then it got worse. He’d been introduced to dozens of people -- not John’s brother, who had been so briefly mentioned that it probably meant John hated him -- but everyone else, or at least it seemed like it. He’d shaken dozens of hands to the point where he was starting to obsess about germs, and when John seemed to get into an actual conversation with an old friend from high school, Rodney murmured that he was going to make a quick call to his sister and slipped away to have five minutes on his own.

The call to Jeannie was shorter than he’d expected, because all he got was her voice mail. He left her a message with a brief explanation about what was going on and a promise to call again that night. Then he spent a lot longer than he should have finding a bathroom, and an equal amount of time getting lost on his way back to where he’d started. Finally he discovered the kitchen, where John was leaning against the closed refrigerator door with a weary expression on his face.

“Oh, good, there you are,” Rodney said. “Was it --” He frowned; something was different. “Did you change your shirt?”

John looked down at himself. “No.”

“Yes, you did. And you must have done it in the past ten minutes. Why would you have forgotten that?” Rodney’s brain was running a mile a minute; he felt his eyes widen. “Oh my God! Please tell me you’re not having some kind of grief-induced breakdown, because I am _not_ good at being -- whatever it is you need to be to be supportive of someone who’s having a breakdown.”

Great, now John was looking at him like _he_ was the crazy one. “Excuse me? My father just died. I’m entitled to as many grief-induced breakdowns as I want -- and who the hell are you to tell me what I can do, anyway?”

“No, no. I came here so you wouldn’t have to come alone, because clearly there’s some kind of dark boogeyman lurking in your family closet and -- well, you’ve been there for me. It’s only fair.” Rodney was running out of steam now.

John looked even more confused. “Who _are_ you?”

“Rodney? I thought you were making a phone call, not _walking_ to Canada,” John came into the room from the other doorway.

John.

Another John. 

There were two Johns looking at him.

Rodney opened his mouth, closed it again, then said rapidly, “Okay, please tell me quickly and in very small words what’s going on, or I’m going to think _I’m_ having some sort of breakdown.”

The first John smirked. “How’s it feel from the other side?”

“Rodney.” The second John -- who had to be the real John, both because he came over and grasped Rodney’s shoulders reassuringly, but also because he was wearing the same clothes Rodney had seen him in before -- shook him a little bit. “This is my brother Dave. My _twin_ brother Dave.”

“Your twin brother.” Rodney repeated the words carefully. “Since when do you have a twin brother?”

“Since the womb,” Dave drawled, and now that Rodney was really looking at him, he told himself he could see it, the little differences that should have been his tell right from the beginning. 

“Yes, ha ha, very funny,” Rodney snapped. “Why didn’t you say something when you first came in?”

“Couldn’t get a word in edgewise,” Dave said, and glanced at John. “He talks a lot, doesn’t he.”

“Yeah,” John said. “You get used to it after a while.”

“I’ll bet you two were hilarious as children.” The only thing Rodney hated more than looking stupid was being made to look that way deliberately. 

“ _He_ was hilarious.” Dave gestured at John. “I’ve always been the responsible one. Speaking of which...we should talk.”

“Does it have to be right now?” John asked, as Rodney considered sneaking out of the room. He did _not_ want to be there for whatever conversation had made John’s shoulders tense and his eyes narrow.

Dave looked at him for a long few seconds. “Fine,” he said finally. “I’ll catch up with you later.” And he left the room without another word.

John stood there. He looked tired and sad and defeated in a way Rodney couldn’t remember seeing him look before. It made Rodney want to go over and hug him, even knowing that that would go over like a lead balloon. When he looked up, he was wearing a small, unconvincing grin. “You want to go for a walk?” he asked.

“Sure,” Rodney said. “Yeah, let’s... let’s go for a walk.”

There were fences and horses and barns, and within five minutes Rodney found himself equally impressed and surprised. “Did you grow up here?” It was hard to imagine the John Sheppard he knew living on what was, when it came right down to it, an estate.

“When we were older,” John said. “There was a different house before this one.” He was holding a long piece of grass he’d plucked from the ground, twisting it. Other than that, anyone looking at him would think he was totally at ease, even if Rodney knew better. Glancing back toward the house, he added, “I couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

“Really? Why?”

“My dad’s idea of teenage rebellion was going to Stanford instead of Harvard.” John finished twisting the piece of grass into a loose knot, then tossed it off to his right and stopped walking. “He had everything planned out for me since I was about fourteen.”

Rodney stopped and looked at him. “So you did the opposite?”

“Pretty much. I mean, I guess I could have run off and become a homeless drug addict living on the streets of New York City. That would have been worse. But not by much.”

“But you came back for the funeral,” Rodney said. “Um, obviously.”

“I didn’t hate him,” John said, like that was what had been behind Rodney’s words. “And I don’t hate my brother. Didn’t seem fair to leave him to deal with all of this on his own.” 

“You shouldn’t feel guilty.” Rodney hesitated, then stepped closer. He couldn’t bring himself to touch John’s arm, though. “You don’t. Do you?”

John’s mouth twisted unhappily and he shrugged. “Wouldn’t make much difference if I did.”

“It would to me.” Rodney just stood there, looking at him, wishing there was something he could say or do to make this easier. 

Eventually, John sighed. “We should probably get back.”

“Okay.”

The return walk seemed a lot longer than their casual stroll between fences had, and when they got back to the house it seemed like things were wrapping up. The caterers were packing up their van and all the people in dark, somber clothes were shaking hands -- it didn’t seem to be a hugging crowd -- and getting into their cars. Rodney followed John into the living room, where Dave was sitting with a glass of wine.

“Hey,” John said awkwardly.

Dave raised an eyebrow. “I was starting to think you took off again.”

“Wouldn’t have bothered to come in the first place if that was what I had planned,” John said. “You said you wanted to talk. Let’s talk.”

“Now?” Dave drank some wine and gestured at a tray on the table where the bottle and three more glasses were waiting. “You might want a drink.”

“That depends on what you want to talk about,” John said.

“Maybe I should go,” Rodney said, pointing to the doorway behind them.

John shook his head. “No. Stay.”

“You know, this is so typical,” Dave said, setting down his glass. 

“If you’ve got something to say, just _say_ it,” John said.

“Look, there’s just one thing I want to know. What’s your level of expectation here?”

John looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, are you going to challenge the will?” When John didn’t answer right away, Dave went on. “I have no idea what it says, of course, but I think I can guess.”

“ _That’s_ what you want to talk about? You want to talk about money?” John sounded disgusted.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’ve been gone a long time, John. It’s not such a stretch.”

If it was possible for a glare to set someone on fire, Dave would have been ablaze. John’s voice was tight and angry. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Dave shifted and sighed. “Hey -- if I've got the wrong impression of you, it's not my fault. You're the one who left, remember? I stayed. _I_ looked after Dad; _I_ ran the business while you're off doing God knows what.”

Rodney wanted to say something supportive, but he couldn’t imagine what that might be. God, he sucked at this.

“I'm assuming that's what Dad wanted,” John said.

“No. No, it's not, John. Dad regretted what happened between you two right up to the end.” Dave sounded like he meant it -- there was even a little bit of sympathy in his voice, maybe, but somehow it didn’t make Rodney like him any better.

John’s throat worked as if it was hard to swallow. “He didn’t regret what happened between us.” His hand clenched into a fist, and when he spoke again his voice was so low and rough it sounded painful. “He wanted me to be something I’m not.”

“Straight?” Dave asked, with John’s familiar smirk. He glanced at Rodney, who was standing there with his mouth hanging open. “You think I didn’t know about that, either? How stupid do you think I am?”

“I never thought you were stupid,” John said. “I thought you were an asshole.”

“And hey, look at that, you were right!” Rodney said brightly, willing at that point to do anything to break the tension. 

Dave stood up and loosened his tie. “Funeral’s in the morning,” he said. “I’m gonna get some sleep. The cleaning service came and did your room yesterday, along with everything else, so -- it’s there if you want it. I had one of the staff put your bags up there.” He left the room, soft footsteps fading as he disappeared into some other part of the house.

It was quiet. After a minute, John said, “Sorry about that.”

Rodney wanted to ask which part of what had just happened John was apologizing for, but it didn’t seem like the time. “It’s okay. You’re both, um, under a lot of pressure.”

“That’d be a convenient excuse,” John said. “But it’s pretty much always like that with us. I guess nine months together in the womb was all we could handle.” He smirked a little bit, the same smirk Dave had worn minutes before, but on John it seemed more sad than amused. 

Rodney exhaled forcefully. “Was he serious? About --”

“Me being gay? Yeah.” John lifted his gaze from the floor and looked at Rodney, and Rodney looked back. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“I know. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. The American military machine is seriously flawed, in case you weren’t aware,” Rodney told him.

“No.” John shook his head. “I mean, yeah, but that’s not why. It’s not why I couldn’t tell _you_.”

“What --” Rodney felt his eyes go wide as he realized what John might mean. “Oh,” he said, in a very small voice.

“I won’t do anything,” John said quickly. “Nothing has to change.”

“Are you _crazy_?” Rodney asked with affection. “Nothing has to _change_? Of course it does.” He could tell from John’s expression that he needed to say more, _do_ more. “Come here.”

It was a sign of how fucked up John was inside his head right then that he didn’t argue or question. He just obeyed, moving closer to Rodney and letting Rodney give him an awkward, shoulder-patting hug. John was warm and smelled good, like shampoo and sweat.

“It’s been a really long day,” John muttered against Rodney’s neck, and Rodney nodded.

“Yeah. Maybe you should get some sleep. Want to show me your room?” Rodney gave John an encouraging smile.

“Okay, fine, but I’m not showing you my etchings,” John grumbled, but he grabbed hold of Rodney’s hand and started to lead him through the house.

“This place is huge,” Rodney said as they encountered a second flight of stairs. 

John shrugged. “Not really. You should have seen the one before this -- that was huge. This is just big.”

The room John took him to was more like a suite at a hotel than a bedroom. It had another, smaller room attached to it, with a couch and some bookcases, and there was a closed door that Rodney assumed led to the bathroom. Both of their bags were there on the floor near the bed.

“I guess he thought we were together,” John said.

“You could have warned me, you know,” Rodney said. “Not about the gay thing -- I mean, yes, about that, too -- but about the twin.” 

“It’s kind of hard to explain that you have an identical twin who hates your guts,” John said. “If it’s any consolation, he doesn’t tell anyone about me, either. Though I guess in his case he has a better reason.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know -- people figure if he has a gay twin, he must be gay, too. Dave’s heterosexuality’s pretty important to him.” John sat down on the side of the bed. “He figures we’re sleeping together.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Rodney said. He studied John’s face, and for once, instead of looking away, avoiding the openness of a shared gaze, John looked back at him. Rodney never would have asked his next question if he hadn’t been pretty sure of the answer, but even so his heart gave a little skip when he drew breath to ask it. “Do you want to be?”

John’s lips shifted against each other. He swallowed, then lifted a hand and gestured at Rodney. “Come here.”

Rodney went, catching John’s fingers in his own and sinking down to sit next to him, pulling him close as their mouths sought each other with a desperate, hungry eagerness. John tasted like coffee -- they’d both been drinking it all afternoon -- and his hands were rough at Rodney’s waistband as they kissed. Rodney was shaking with how much he wanted John, like every bit of the desire he’d suppressed over the past few years was escaping now in a rush.

“Rodney --” John started hoarsely, his breath hot against Rodney’s ear, and Rodney interrupted him before he could go any further.

“Yes,” Rodney said. “Yes, I _know_. You haven’t wanted to talk about it all this time, and you want to start _now_?” 

John laughed, maybe not a real laugh, and kissed Rodney again. “We should probably shut the door,” he said.

“Oh. Right.” Rodney tried to force himself to think about something other than John’s lips and skin and dick. It was impossible. “No, never mind. I don’t care.”

“I do.” John put his hands on Rodney’s face and looked at him tenderly. “I’ll get the door, you pull down the covers?”

Rodney nodded. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, and it took more concentration than it should have to get himself to stand up and fumble with the covers until they were down at the foot of the bed and then John was suddenly standing beside him again, tie off, top of his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned. “God, you look good,” Rodney told him.

“Yeah? You don’t look too bad yourself.” John seemed uncertain, though. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to do this pretty much right from the first time we met.”

“You never said anything.”

Rodney tilted his head to the side. “Neither did you.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got an excuse -- I’m in the U.S. military. What’s yours?” John reached out and rested his hand at Rodney’s waist. 

“Oh, have we gotten to the excuse making part of the conversation? I hadn’t realized.” In some ways, this was no different from a thousand arguments they’d had; in others, it was so different it might as well have been in another language. Rodney tugged at the front of John’s shirt, too gently to cause damage. “I might be Canadian, but I’m not stupid. You think I go around asking members of the expedition if they happen to be gay? Anyway, I’m not.”

“You’re not?” John asked.

“I’m bisexual, obviously,” Rodney said. “Now can we please stop talking about this and go to bed?”

“I’m pretty sure that was my line,” John said, and went back to kissing him like he’d never stopped. Rodney groaned in gratitude and did his best to reciprocate when John unfastened and peeled off his clothes; by the time they lay down, they were both naked. 

Rodney got distracted by the sight of John’s bare skin. He’d seen most of John unclothed, bits here and there, but never all of him at once, never like _this_. It was a little overwhelming knowing that he could touch as much as he wanted to.

“You okay?” John asked, running a hand over Rodney’s chest slowly.

“I think so. It’s been a while -- and I’ve never actually done this with a man.” Rodney shuddered when John’s hand slid around to his back and pulled him closer. The feel of John’s cock against his was enough to make him shut his eyes and clutch John even more tightly than he already had been. “God.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while for me, too.” John shifted against him. “Listen, I just...can you tell me something?”

“Right now I’d be tempted to agree that you’re smarter than me,” Rodney said. “I mean, it wouldn’t be true, but you see what I’m getting at.” He looked at John’s face. “Oh. You’re serious. Yes, what?”

“This isn’t a sympathy thing, is it? Because if it’s just for tonight, that’s okay, I just want to know.” John’s expression had gone from open to wary. Rodney _hated_ that.

“It’s _okay_? No, it’s not!” Rodney wanted to go on a loud, long rant about how John deserved better, and how John was an idiot if he thought the only reason Rodney wanted to go to bed with him was because his father had died, but they were already naked and in said bed, and for all Rodney knew John’s surprise twin’s bedroom was next door. So he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, “No. It’s not a sympathy thing, and I don’t want it to be just for tonight. In case you hadn’t realized, I’ve been crazy about you for years. And yes, this would be when you reassure me that it’s not entirely one-sided.”

John gave him a relaxed smile that soothed Rodney’s jangled nerves. “You know it isn’t. Pretty sure you knew before I did. C’mere.”

There wasn’t much closer to go, but it wasn’t like Rodney intended to argue. After all their waiting, it wasn’t long until they were gasping for air and Rodney at least was shivering on the edge of release. The solid thrust of John’s dick against his hip and the faint rasp of John’s pubic hair against his own was unbelievable. He could feel his balls drawing up tight, and when John’s thumb rubbed across his nipple Rodney groaned and came helplessly, cock jerking beside John’s.

“Shit, Rodney,” John whispered, and reached for his hand. Fingers entwined, slick with Rodney’s come, they gripped John’s dick between them and stroked it until John came, too.

“Gross,” Rodney said when they’d finally recovered and drew apart.

“Yeah. The one thing condoms are good for,” John said ruefully. He leaned away and then shoved a handful of tissues at Rodney. They both cleaned up as best they could.

Rodney didn’t know what to expect next. He didn’t figure John for a cuddler, and to be honest he’d never been much of one himself, but somehow when John rolled over and draped an arm across his chest it felt natural. 

“Funeral’s tomorrow,” John said, and Rodney turned his head and kissed John’s messier-than-usual hair. 

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Me, too.” John kept on surprising Rodney, because instead of stopping there he went on, “I thought we’d have more time. To work stuff out.”

“I’m sure you would have,” Rodney said softly. “He would have been proud of you.”

John made a little muffled sound and tightened his arm around Rodney, and after that he _was_ quiet, and some time later he relaxed, his breathing slow and even. Rodney was sure he was asleep. John whispered, “Thanks, Rodney.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Rodney whispered back. “I want to be here. I wish it was under different circumstances, but...”

“Yeah,” John murmured. “There’s just tomorrow; then we can go home.”

It sounded better than anything Rodney had ever heard.

* * *

John woke up in the middle of the night. Rodney was warm and still beside him, and didn’t move when he slipped quietly from the bed and pulled on some clothes.

It felt freakish to be padding barefoot through the house he’d lived in when he was younger, knowing that it was a life he’d willingly left behind. The house was silent except for the soft hum of electronics, but he could see the glow of light in the doorway before he reached the kitchen. 

Dave was sitting at the island with a sandwich in front of him, the shiny granite surface littered with condiments and packages of deli meats. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“I did for a while.” It was close to as much sharing as John wanted to do. “You?”

“Hungry. It’s weird -- I felt like I was eating all day. Someone was always bringing me something.” Dave slid a wrapped loaf of sliced bread toward John like a peace offering. “Want a sandwich?”

John considered it. “Is there turkey?”

“It hasn’t been that long since you were home.” 

It _wasn’t_ home anymore, John knew, and he was okay with that. He made himself a turkey sandwich on whole wheat with mayo and then sat on a stool to eat it. Dave’s own sandwich was almost gone at that point, and neither of them had said anything more. John waited until he had a few bites in him before he said, “I meant what I said, you know.”

“About the will?” Dave nodded. “Yeah, I figured. It’s not that I want to shut you out...”

“It’s fine,” John interrupted. Whatever Dave was getting ready to say, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want any of his money. I don’t need it.”

Dave chewed another bite of his sandwich. John did the same. “Your friend,” Dave said carefully after another minute. “He doesn’t really seem like your type.”

“How would you know?” John asked, feeling a hint of exasperation creeping in. “You have no idea who I am.”

“You _left_ ,” Dave reminded him. 

“I had to,” John said quietly. “You know I did.”

Setting down his sandwich, Dave reached to put the lid back on the mayonnaise jar. He was looking for something to do with his hands instead of having to talk; it was the kind of stalling tactic John knew well. “A few weeks after you left,” Dave said, then glanced at him. “You want to hear this?”

John shrugged.

“Dad was in his study. I figured he was working, but when I went in, he was just sitting there, turning a quarter over and over in his hand.” Dave picked what was left of his sandwich up and then put it down again without eating any. “I asked if he was okay, and he said he was going to flip a coin to decide whether to call you or not.”

“Did he?”

“Call you? I don’t know.” Dave grimaced. “He flipped the coin. Then he just sat there looking at it, but he had that expression, you know?”

John nodded. “Yeah. I remember.” It was the one where you knew if you distracted or interrupted him, you’d never hear the end of it. 

And his father had never called him. That was all the answer he needed.

“I’m going to bed,” John said, standing up and heading for the doorway. He’d hardly gone two steps when Dave said, in a low voice, “John.”

John stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming back. I know Dad would have appreciated it.”

John wasn’t sure he believed that. He never could have come back with Rodney if his father was still alive, that was for sure, and right then Rodney was the only thing keeping him from walking out the front door and never looking back.

“Night,” John said, because he had to say _something_ , and went upstairs.

The bedroom was how he’d left it -- quiet, dark, Rodney sleeping peacefully. John got into bed without much effort not to wake Rodney, and predictably Rodney stirred and mumbled in a familiar way; John had spent many nights sleeping beside him, after all, even if it hadn’t been in the same bed.

“Okay?” Rodney muttered, rolling closer and draping an arm over him in a way that made John shut his eyes and shove his nose against Rodney’s shoulder, absorbing his warmth and the smell of him. Rodney’s hand patted his back in awkward, barely awake alarm. “Hey, what’s...”

“M’okay.” John didn’t want to have to explain, and he was glad when Rodney seemed to get it and relaxed. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmmph. You, too. What time’s it?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” John lay very still for a long time, until he was sure Rodney was asleep again. Then he could relax, too. Relax and stop thinking about the day ahead, just focus on the comfort of Rodney’s body against his. 

If he had Rodney, he could get through anything.


End file.
